


Christmas in Ireland

by WanderingSummerBreeze



Category: Outlander (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:59:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingSummerBreeze/pseuds/WanderingSummerBreeze
Summary: Just a little ficlet about the recent holiday...





	

 

We had arrived in Ireland late Friday night after an exhaustive several weeks of work. Finally, our characters, and ourselves, were reunited and we could enjoy working together once more.

Stumbling into Cait’s old bedroom that she had shared with her sisters as a child, we had fallen on the single bed with the eagerness and sloppiness of teenagers, grasping at any bits of exposed flesh with our teeth and tearing at buckles, buttons and zippers before an intrusive cough from the opened bedroom door stalled out actions.

Cait, who had until this moment, had been underneath my weight, her knee pressing, agonizingly pleasant, into my balls, pulled out from under me as I rolled onto my back, nearly falling off the small bed.

Cait’s sister simply smirked at us and explained she had arrived earlier than planned.

That was thirty-six hours, two cold showers, sixteen people crammed into a home, one midnight mass, countless gifts, five side-ways glances from Cait’s father who knew EXACTLY what I was thinking, and one jingled-cat earlier.

Cait and I sat across from each other at the dinner table. A plethora of soul-warming food, so meticulously laid out with care, was quickly becoming something akin to a massacre with clinking plates and silverware.

I pulled away from my American football conversation with Cait’s brother and finished off the last of the dinner rolls. I raised my eyes to Cait, who had seemed to have been staring at me, the smile across her face reaching up to the blue of her eyes.  _You okay?_ was mouthed in my direction and, nodding, I smiled back.

Growing up, this wasn’t really a typical Christmas for me, but had become one since meeting and subsequently falling in love with Caitriona.  We had kept it quite a while, preferring to do our own thing. But, I supposed, when you come from a large Catholic family, as she did, such things cannot remain in perfect solitude for long.

I sipped some wine, my eyes never leaving hers. Slowly, her eyes roamed the table as if casing the surroundings for any holes in her plan.

I quirked my head to the side, already knowing, and yet suspicious of her activity. She wiped her mouth, dainty - like in the movies - with her napkin, then slowly let her arm fall to the collar of her green dress, pulling it just enough to reveal her flawless, pale mounds. I shook my head slowly, absently licking my lips in memory of her succulent nipples – has it really been three days?? - hard under my tongue.

I coughed slightly and pulled my gaze away.

Evil woman.

After the arrival of her one sister, Cait and I had been moved to cots off the living-room. Cots we attempted to push together on Christmas eve, after mass, but the heavy steps of her father descending from the second floor for a late-night snack, had rendered useless. We had tried to wait him out, but it seemed three in the morning had suddenly become his favorite time to read on the couch near the low lamp. I had turned toward Cait, the light playing across her features, and had sobbed silently into the pillow.

I turned my regard back toward my Cait, her eyes still on me from across the table, and shook my head slowly. _Don’t do it,_ I mouthed. She merely smiled back and it was no more than a second later that I felt a warm foot on mine.

My breath hitched and I swallowed so loud I thought the room would suddenly turn to me. However, upon inspection, all were still focused on their own conversations.

I could feel Cait’s foot slide up and down, deviously slow, along my leg. The trousers bunching, then falling with her ministrations as a toe dipped underneath to perform lazy circles before heading North once more.

I’m typically half-hard whenever I’m around her, that’s no secret, so the moment Cait’s foot made it to its destination, I suppressed the loudest of groans, doing my best to bury my tortured cries into the napkin. An expression of concern came from down the table. Cait’s mom.

“Are you alright, Sam?” was all I heard before I froze and looked up into the worried eyes of a mother.

Suddenly all eyes were on me, but the bloody foot, I stole a glance at Cait, giving her my best stink-eye, never left. I coughed a bit once more, turning my attention back to Cait’s mom.

“Yes,” cough, “just went down the wrong way.”

Cait interjected with concern, “Be careful, hon. Make sure it’s going to go down the _right_ way. Before you swallow, I mean. That’s my rule of thumb.”

She-devil.

I stole a glance at her father and could feel beads of sweat form on my forehead. He watched his daughter, my wife, eyes closed just that slightest amount to indicate he knew something was afoot, before being pulled back into conversation by someone else.

Through the whole process, Cait’s foot had never ceased. It had yielded – briefly – at her mum’s voice, but quickly made up for lost time shortly thereafter, and I found myself raising my ass off the chair, ever so slightly, to gain more contact with her foot.

Giving in, I bore my eyes into Cait’s, as her big toe tucked itself underneath my clothed balls, and inched toward the _Oh my God_ spot below my testicles. My eyes were wary and through the fog I watched her slide lower in her chair, her foot reaching as far as it could.

My left hand fell under the tablecloth and around her foot, pushing it into me as much as could be allowed. Background noise fell away and it was once again, just the two of us. Just her and me. Always.

I leaned into the table, my hand underneath stroking her calf as she continued to rotate her big toe under my sack. Suddenly her other foot rested atop my crotch and while she played there, I took hold of my napkin, praying into it for a quiet release, before, shielded by the cloth, taking my thumb into my mouth, pretending it was her toe that I suckled. I felt the pressure, low in my stomach, build and the eagerness to dive across the table, imbedding myself in her hot centre nearly take over until, finally, I jerked involuntarily forward and released myself into my trousers.

Again.

I was aware of only two things when I came to. One: The quick retreat of feet from my trousers and two: Cait’s mothers hand resting atop my heated forehead.

“You’re hot to the touch, Sam.”

I brushed her away, with as much kindness as I could muster. Stole a glance at Cait before responding, “I think I just need some air. Will you excuse me.”

I pushed my chair back from the table, careful to, casually, hover the napkin around the wet spot I knew was there.

“I’ll go with you,” Cait had pushed her seat back, ready to rise until her father put a hand up to stop her.

“I think Sam just needs a minute, Caitriona. I’m sure he’s just –,“ his eyes turned toward my standing form, following my long stature down before returning his attention to his daughter “flushed. Just the heat, is it not, Sam?” he watched me.

I coughed inwardly, smiled and nodded, “Yes, sir,” and made a hasty retreat out into the crisp, Christmas day,

 

 

 


End file.
